
^he Echo 

and 

A Bit O* Verse 



EGMONT W. RUSCHKE 




Book j2k-kS.!^_& ^ 

Goppglitii? 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



THE ECHO and 
ABIT 0' VERSE 



THE ECHO 

and 

A BIT O' VERSE 

Egmont W. Ruschke 




BOSTON 

THE STRATFORD CO., PUBLISHERS 
1918 






Copyright 191» 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 

Boston, Mass. 



The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



MAY I6l9i8 



">! r, I 



TBtbitation 

There shines a light across the sea, 
A beacon light to ships like me, 
It casts its golden rays on waves, 
And from the wind and rocks it saves 
The plunging craft, the soul that sails 
To do, to serve, to live! through gales. 

Mp Motf)tv 



Contents 

The Echo 1 

Death Speaks 41 

The Intangible 53 

A Bit 0' Verse 

Vivo 69 

Tomorrow ....... 76 

Lost Dreams 77 

Fallen Idols 77 

To the Sons of France . . . .78 

In Memoriam of Dr. Charles D. Larklns . 78 

Sing to Me 78 

Birthday Greetings . . . . ,79 

For Us 79 

The Palisades 80 

The Awakening 81 

Cap' Bud . . . . . . .81 

A Vision 83 

Battle 83 

Apart 84 

Guess Not 84 

You .85 

White Roses and Red . . . .85 

Farewell Old Playmate . . . .86 

My Star 87 

To Edna . • 88 

My Sepulchre . . . . . .89 

vii 



THE ECHO 

A COMEDY 



My eyes have been closed for these long weary years, 
Yet echoes of life thrill my soul with their cheers. 
And you, who can see, live in echoes of yore. 



Preface 
I 

The Echo is intended to be a suggestive play. 
By suggestive I do not mean spicy dialogue and 
bedroom settings. It is intended to be suggestive 
of serious social considerations. The remark in the 
dialogue by Mrs. Douglas about the servant, George 
Washington Jones, that he can only ''change his 
cage," since social and economic forces are more 
potent than political, is one of the most obvious 
but unrecognized truths that the world needs to con- 
sider. The ideal, represented by law, and the sen- 
timental, represented by so-called political consid- 
erations, do not exercise as great an influence as 
the economic and social. 

II 

A critical analysis of society reveals its individ- 
uals as made up of the impulses of heredity and 
environment, with economic, sociological, religious, 
and temperamental idiosyncrasies of character, not 
to mention conflicting class, family, racial, and na- 
tional interests. Life is a fabric curiously woven 
of many strands which inter-lap and overlap, which 
wear and tear. 

In dealing with all social questions, with labor, 
poverty, crime and divorce, this Aristotelian con- 
sideration of the many factors of life must not be 
forgotten. A complete, or satisfactory solution 
must settle all considerations. 

xi 



PREFACE 

III 

This is true in international affairs. The various 
causes of war must all be adjusted or eradicated be- 
fore peace will be possible. 

IV 

Should a blind girl marry? The question is aca- 
demic, but it is interesting as being representative 
of the question of marriage of individuals who are 
physical inefficients of society. Doubtlessly we will 
answer the question in the negative, unless we our- 
selves are afflicted, when the chances are that we 
will consider our own case peculiar and exceptional. 



The Civil War marked the end of chattel slavery. 
It marked the birth of a nation where before there 
had been a confederation. Consequently, as an 
American, I am interested in it and am proud of 
the result. But I confess a somewhat malicious de- 
light in shattering, if I have done so, the legend 
of a perfect president commanding a host of angels. 
I do not question the sincerity or wisdom of the 
people of the North or of Lincoln, in 1863, any more 
than I question the wisdom of Wilson and the 
people of the United States in 1918, but I refuse to 
prostrate myself to the conception that the North 
was perfection itself. 

The people of the North and South of that time 
were much like ourselves. They were neither saints 
nor devils. Lincoln was not a paragon of virtue 
and wisdom, nor was Lee a vile traitor. They were 

xii 



PREFACE 

both noble human characters, devoted to the cause 
which they conceived to be right. They were cor- 
ner-stones of strength to the North and South. 
They both made mistakes. Lincoln was reluctantly 
forced into about every measure which has won the 
applause of history; his chief virtue was his deter- 
mined conservatism. Lee frankly admitted that the 
loss of Gettysburg rested on his shoulders. 

When we recognize that 1863 was as I have pre- 
sented it, we will not despair of the present, which 
happens to be 1918 at the time of writing, and which 
will be equally true in 2018. Possibly the reader 
will be persuaded to study the Civil War in this 
critical spirit, and form a new estimate of present 
conditions and contemporary leaders. Unless the 
reader has what Shaw calls the faculty of being 
* imaginative, without illusions, and creative with- 
out religion, loyalty, patriotism or any of the com- 
mon ideals," the Echo will be not the beginning 
of thought but the end, as institutions should not 
be the ends in themselves, but the means of achiev- 
ing richer, nobler and better life. 



Xlll 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE 

Mrs. James Douglas. 

Miss Phyllis Douglas. 

George Washington Jones. 

Mrs. Amelie Peck. 

Mr. Archibald Peck. 

Daisy. 

Jane. 

Col. James Douglas. 

Charles. 

Dr. Mapes. 

(In the order of speech.) 

Scene 

The home of a rather well-to-do family in a small 
town of New York State. 

Time 

February, eighteen sixty three. 
Nine o'clock in the morning:. 



The Echo 

A church bell is tolling nine as the curtain rises, 
revealing an old fashioned dining room in which a 
log fire burns brightly. Old family portraits hang on 
the walls; morning sunlight streams gaily into the 
room. Its brightness is intensified by the snow, seen 
through the window, covering the ground on this Feb- 
ruary morning in the year 1863. Breakfasting at the 
table are Mrs. James Douglas, a middle-aged lady, 
with hair slightly tinged with grey, and with features 
that bespeak strong character. Opposite her is her 
daughter Phyllis, who is an intelligent and pretty 
young woman about twenty years of age. They are 
both dressed in the fashion of the time, — hoop-skirts 
and parted hair. The log fire is smouldering. 

W^e notice that Mrs. Douglas looks intently at a 
draped picture, a?id wipes away a tear. 

Standing at the side-board is an old darky, George 
Washington Jones, who almost immediately after the 
curtain rises pours coffee into cups and serves it. 
The furniture is of the period immediately preceding 
this. Phyllis feels her way towards the sugar. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Sugar, dear? 

FhYUjIS 

Yes, please. 

[1] 



THE ECHO 

G. W. Jones 
Sho' yo' don' want muffins, M'am? 

Mrs. Douglas 
No George — Oh, did a newspaper come today? 

G. W. Jones 
'Sense me, mam, but I'se kept it till af'er break- 
fast, f ' yo ' don ' eat when dat 's once in yo ' hands. 

All three smile. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Wicked tyrant! 

Phyllis 
Simply because you are the only man here you 
should not be too hard on us. 

G. W. Jones 
Wa' someone's got ter take massa's place, else — 

Mrs. Douglas 
Massa! George you came to us ten years ago by 
the underground system, and yet you say master. 
Why don't you take the freedom offered? 

G. W. Jones 
Yo' don' understand. He'll all'ys be ma' massa. 

Phyllis 
It's strange that people allow sentiment to inter- 
fere with freedom. 

[2] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Douglas 
Yes, but it's not all sentiment. What could he do 
with his freedom? If he left us he would simply 
change his cage. Social and economic forces are even 
stronger than political. 

Phyllis^ smilingly addressing G. W. Jones. 
And anyway, it's no use to argue with a man. 
They argue simply to exercise their tongue. 

G. W. Jones 
I dunno! Ladies je's smile or cry. 

Phyllis,, laughing. 
And that ends the argument? 

G. W. Jones 
'Ceptin' when a lady fights a lady. Den dey 
scratch, bite. .. . I'll get yo' papa'. (Exit at left.) 

Mrs. Douglas 

Our poor, misunderstood sex. Well, a tigress is a 
tigress. 

Phyllis 

But isn't George thoughtful. He is really quite 
intelligent. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Intelligent? He is intelligent enough to remember 
some of Harold's expressions. {Phyllis suddenly is 
serious. ) 

[3] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 
I had never thought of that. It's true. . . . 

Mrs. Douglas 
This coffee is delicious. 

{George Washington Jones ''enters with paper on a 
silver tray and places it before Mrs. Douglas.) 

Phyllis 
I have never tasted better. ... I feel like running. 
If I could see I would run until I dropped from ex- 
haustion. 

(Mrs. Douglas is reading the paper. Phyllis almost 
immediately asks.) 

Phyllis 
What does it say, mother? 

Mrs. Douglas 
Kindly allow me to read it first. 

Phyllis 
Pardon me. ... of course. . . . George. . . . today, it 
is beautiful, is it not? 

G. W. Jones 
Yes, Miss. 

Phyllis 
I feel it. ... I feel as if the world were purring. 

Mrs. Douglas shakes her head and frowns. 

[4] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 
Was there no letter? 

G. W. Jones 

No, Miss, dere were none, 

Mrs. Douglas 
I do declare! 

Phyllis 
What, mother? 

Mrs. Douglas 
I must read this carefully this afternoon. 

Phyllis 
Is there anything new about this dreadful war? 

Mrs. Douglas 
President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation is 
said to be a mistake. Mr. Seward has a letter, pub- 
lished here, stating it was bad policy. 

Phyllis 
But how was it bad? 

Mrs. Douglas 
The Border States, and many lukewarm, people and 
property interests in the north feel it is a blow at the 
security of private property. 

Phyllis 
But has not northern enthusiasm increased? Now 
slavery, as well as the Union, hangs in the balance. 

[5] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Douglas 
Enlistments have fallen off and the government is 
finding it even more difficult to get money. Why was 
an ignorant backwoodsman elected president? 

Phyllis 
I think he has been tactful, even to the point of 
weakness. He has driven us into a war, but he didn't 
want to. It's the system, the stupid system, which 
prevents nations from quietly attending and adjust- 
ing their difficulties. {Removes Coffee.) 

Mrs. Douglas 
I don't know where and how you became a pacifist, 
Phyllis. Don't you see the glory of war? 

Phyllis 
Its glory is not comparable with its horror. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Confess that you feel a thrill when you hear martial 
music. 

Phyllis 
Yes! I like its briskness, the tramp of feet, the 
courage, organization and activity. But it's all de- 
structive. There is a hollow sound. It is activity, yet 
fruitless activity; it is intense, but barren. 

Mrs. Douglas 
It is not barren. You admit it compels courage. 

[6] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 

If I could see, as I remember the world, it is a 
delicate blend; it is quiet. Like the birds that sing 
in the trees, a harmony and a melody exist, I think, — 
except when men spend their resources, time and gen- 
ius in preparing for war, and are too lazy, stupid or 
indifferent to provide means for avoiding war. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Peoples do not fight as if they were lazy. And 
nature is not all beautiful and creative; it is also 
destructive. The stronger kill the weak; the fittest 
survive. 

Phyllis 

But man, though weaker than many animals, main- 
tains himself because he can think. This faculty 
enabling him to exist, should enable him to exist sens- 
ibly and constructively. God is a struggling God; if 
I could see, I, too, would go into the world and fight ; 
let man struggle, but struggle intelligently, ordering 
his life without the lowest attributes of the beast. I 
may be a pacifist because I cannot fight. . . . Now 
that we are in the war we must see it through. The 
Union must be preserved, and slavery abolished. . . . 

But, Oh, the horror, the waste and the sorrow of it 
all. 

Mrs. Douglas 

Horror, waste and sorrow. But what is the alter- 
native ? 

[7] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 

The alternative is a new vision of humanity. Hum- 
anity? Why it's a new word to the world. Teach 
the world that the nation is as subordinate to human- 
ity as is the family to the nation. Patriotism must be 
broadened and extended. 

Not by the refusal to fight, but by the refusal to 
allow the real or imaginary causes of war to exist and 
develop will peace come. Only when nations regard 
treaties as self-imposed restrictions to be obsen^ed, 
Avill peace be possible, for on the respect of a nation's 
word, on the honor alike of individual and nation, 
rests all morality and, in the last analysis, all law. 

Mrs. Douglas 
I agree with you that nations must value their hon- 
or as highlv as do individuals. But how are you going 
to teach the world the truth that there is an mter- 
nationalism transcending nationalism? 

Phyllis 
How was patriotism born? Men recognized its wis- 
dom. Men must learn that there are two kinds of 
nationalism. War is caused by the narrow land, 
which must be broadened. When the narrow selfish- 
ness of nations is removed and altruism implanted; 
when all the peoples of the world make their govern- 
ments free from the control of groups bent on advanc- 
ing their own interests, and free from the scramble 
for colonies; when democracy is regnant in all the 
nations as a bulwark of national sovereignty and non- 
intervention, war will cease. Health is not an ideal 

[8] 



THE ECHO 

but a state attendant on freedom from disease. Peace 
is not an ideal, but a condition incident to achieve- 
ment of the ideal. Remove the disease, and you have 
health. Secure liberty, freedom and justice, and the 
causes of war will have been removed, and peace will 
be inevitable. Only by unifying the world and broad- 
ening the perception and sympathies of the world to 
recognize such unification will men beat their swords 
into plowshares and the golden chord of peace dom- 
inate the symphony of life. 

Loud knocking at door. Evidently a metal knocker. 

G. W. Jones 
Sho' somebody's dere. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Please see who it is, George. 

G. W. Jones 
Yes ma'm. {Exit center door.) 

Loud knocking repeated. 

Phyllis 
I wonder who it is. I believe it is. . . .sh. . . . 

Woman^s voice heard outsidk. 

Phyllis 
Yes, it is, as usual, she. . . . 

Mrs. Peck rushes through the center door and 
pauses. 

[9] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Peck 
Oh, still breakfasting. 

Rushes over and kisses Mrs. D., who has begun to 
rise, and pushes her into her seat. 

She speaks effusively in gasps. She is a short 
woman, with dark, attractive eyes, and manners 
which we generally call kittenish. 

Mrs. Peck 

How are you? {Kisses Phyllis.) And you, dear? 
I'm so excited. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Excited? 

Mrs. Peck 
Some of the troops are coming home today. 

She sits down. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Troops? Today? 

Mrs. Peck 

Yes, is it not splendid. Some of our own boys, 
marching up the street — well and happy. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Do you know what companies are returning? Is 

[10] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Peck 
No, dear, I don't think so. Only Bert Henderson's 
and Jeffrey's regiments are. . . . 

Phyllis 
Is not Charles' regiment returning? It went with 
Bert's. 

Mrs. Peck 
I don't think it is coming. . . . No, it isn't. 

Mrs. Douglas 
I haven 't heard for two months and I hoped. . . . 

Mrs. Peck 
Poor dear. Don 't worry. It will be over soon, now. 

G. W. Jones^ Enters center door. 
Mr. Peck's waitin', Missus. 

Mrs. Peck 
Oh, I forgot Archibald. I was afraid you would 
not be dressed — rushed up — forgot about him. 

Mrs. Douglas, to G. TT. Jones. 
Tell Mr. Peck to come up, George. 

G. W. Jones 
Yes, missus. {Exit G. W. Jones.) 

Mrs. Douglas 
I, too, forgot something. Won 't you have some cof- 
fee with us? Pardon me for not asking you immed- 
iately. 

[11] 



THE ECHO 

Mr. Peck 
He is a tall, slim man about fifty years of age, 
twelve years older than his wife, with gr^ey hair and 
side whiskers. His clothes are cut in the fashion of 
the time; he wears a top-hat, light grey trousers, a 
dark coat. 

Mr. Peck 
Good morning, ladies. 

Mrs. Douglas and Phyllis 
Good-morning. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Won't you be seated, Mr. Peck. 

Mr. Peck 
Thank you. 

Mrs. Douglas 
I was just asking your wife to have some breakfast 
with us. Will 3'ou not have a bite? 

Mrs. Peck 
No, thank you, dear. We have just breakfasted. 
Archibald makes such sumptuous muffins. {Looks 
with ecstacy to the sky.) 

Mr. Peck, addressing Phyllis. 
And how is the little lady? 

Phyllis 
Not very different from yesterday, Mr. Big man. 
How is Mr. Big Man? 

[ 12 ] 



THE ECHO 

Mr. Peck 

Quite well ! Only a woman is privileged to change 
her mind and her malady each day. My gout re- 
mains incurable and troublesome, but I manage to 
get along. 

Mrs. Douglas 
I am sorry we kept you waiting, Mr. Peck. 

Mr. Peck 

Don't mention it. This is no hour to call, but my 
wife insisted. 

Mrs. Douglas 
We were so engrossed in. . . . 

Mr. Peck 

It makes no difference. {Turns to his icife.) .... 
Out of sight, out of mind. No wonder our wives are 
so anxious for us to be out of sight. 

They laugh slightly. 

Mrs. Douglas 

I have had my picture framed and have hung it in 
the other room. You remember it"? 

Mr. Peck 
Yes, indeed. Did you take the narrow frame? 

Mrs. Douglas 
Yes. 

[13] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Peck 
Let us see it, please. {Bounces up.) 

Mrs. Douglas,, rising. 
If 3'ou care to, and you, Mr. Peck? 

Mr. Peck 
I should like to very much. (They go out.) 

Mrs. Douglas 
Excuse us just for a moment, Phj^llis. 

PhYItLIS 

Certainly. 

Enter G. W. Jones with two little girls in each 
hand. 

G. W. Jones 
Two ladies fo' yo'. Miss Phyllis. 

Phyllis, rising. 
Who is it? 

Daisy 
Daisy is a little girl, four years old, who has golden 
curls doivn her hack. Her hlue eyes are her most 
distirictive feature; her voice is very babyish. 

Jane 
Jane is a dark haired girl, with black eyes and 
eyebrows with long black eyelashes. Her voide is 
somewhat more mature. She is five years old. 

[14] 



THE ECHO 



Us! 


Daisy 


AND 


Jane_, speak 


in 


unison. 


Us? 








Phyllis 






It's 


me 


and Jane. 


Daisy 






Daisy? 






Phyllis 














Jane 







Yes. 

They take her hands. 

Daisy 
Miss Phyllis, woldiers come home. . . . {Exit G. W. 
Jones.) 

Phyllis 
You don't remember when they left, do you! 

Jane 
I do, my brudder went. 

Daisy 

We have a picture of him. 

Phyllis 
You have? How nice. 

Jane 

Tell us a story, Miss Phyllis, about a big, big. . . . 

[15] 



THE ECHO 

Daisy 

And a little, li'lle, li'Ue. . . . 

Phyllis 
Shall I tell you about a big Prince, and bigger 
giants, and a little Princess*? 

Jane 
Pleath. 

Daisy 

Make it end nice. 

Phyllis_, the children sit at her feet. 
Once upon a time there was a wonderful Prince. 
He was strong, and brave, and handsome. Wasn't he? 

Daisy 
Yeth. 

Phyllis 
It always depends on the point of view. . . . This 
Prince w^as anxious to kill bad giants, so he went away 
from his castle and killed bad men who steal little 
princesses and children. He left the song of birds, 
the song of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and 
the waving golden grain to fight. ... to fight for good 
children and beautiful princesses. 

Daisy 

Why did he fight? 

Jane 
He wath brave. Wathn't he? 

[16] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 
Because be was brave, and because there was a 
Princess in a castle. 

Daisy 
Ah, he liked her. 

Phyllis 
He fell in love with her, but only in a dream. 

Jane 
He didn't fight in a dream. 

Phyllis 
No, he only loved in a dream. For her eyes were 
closed; she was asleep, as it were; a wicked fairy had 
closed her eyes a year before. He came into her 
dream; life was a dream — the dream of love. The 
Princess knew she would never awake; she knew his 
love was only pity; so she sent him away. She told 
him it was only a dream. 

Daisy 

But he came back. 

Phyllis 
No, he didn't. He fought. She dreamed. She 
often wanted to call him back. How she hated her 
sleep — how she hated the evil fairy who had closed 
her eyes. 

Jane 

But it must end nicely. He came back. Sav yes 
Miss Phyllis. 

[17] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 
To please you; yes, he came back. 

Mrs. Peck, enters door with others. 
Yes, yes {over her shoulder.) Ah, dear, {to Phyl- 
lis) we left you all alone. (EnPer G. W. Jones cen- 
ter door.) 

Phyllis 
But I had company. These little darlings have 
been entertaining me by letting me entertain them. 

Daisy and Jane 
Good-bye. 

Phyllis 

Take them to the door, George. Good-bye, child- 
ren. Stop in again, like good children. {Exeunt 
center.) 

I don't mind being alone. Blindness and solitude 
^re much akin. 

Mr. Peck 
Verily, verily, I say, the little lady is a philosopher. 

Phyllis 
When one has nothing else to do one may as well 
be a philosopher. {They laugh.) 

Mrs. Douglas 
You are too hard on philosophers, Phyllis. 

Mr. Peck 
On the contrary, it seems to me that. . . . 

[18] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Peck 
Now don't argue. My husband, like all men, loves 
to argue. While they talk, we rule. 

Mr. Peck 
My dear, don't be absurd. You know that it is 
the man's place to rule and the woman's to obey. 

Mrs. Peck 
You will argue. 

Phyllis 
Will you excuse me; I think I shall lie down for a 
little while. (Rises.) 

Mrs. Douglas 
Shall I not go with you? (rising.) 

Phyllis 
No, thank you. I can find my way. Good-bye, 
Mr. Peck. Good-bye, Mrs. Peck. 

Mrs. Peck 
Good-morning. 

Simultaneously with 

Mr. Peck 

Good-morning. 

Mrs. Peck glares at Mr. P. He looks at carpet. 

Mrs. P£Ck_, after a momentary pause. 
Archibald, Mrs. Douglas told me the other day that 
old Mr. Jones is going to sell that beautiful horse he 
bought last spring. Won't you buy it? 

[19] 



THE ECHO 

Mr. Peck, indifferently. 
Is that so? 

Mrs. Douglas 
We have our information from George. 

Mr. Peck 

Suppose it 's these hard times ! This blasted war 
eats up our money, our food, our lives, everything". 
That's what comes of letting religious fanatics and 
political demagogues rule the country. Everything 
has been upset. Even that backwoodsman who is 
President has become disgusted with men who elected 
him. 

Mrs. Peck, stentorian voice. 

Mr. Peck! A man with a face like Lincoln's, 
homely as he is, must be unfortunate, and not un- 
wise. Besides in the South, sugar costs several dol- 
lars a pound; flour is forty dollars a barrel. 

Mr. Peck 

Unfortunate? Unfortunate people are unwise. 
The trouble with Lincoln is not so much himself as 
the abolitionist crew supporting him. Horace Greeley 
said in *'The Tribune" at the beginning of the war 
that we should ''let the erring sisters go in peace." 
This is what Lincoln should have done. Why dis- 
turb everything to satisfy fanatics? Instead we have 
been forced into this; the war has not ended in three 
years though we thought it would end in three months. 

[20] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Peck 
We were talking about the horse. 
G. W. Jon)es enters. 

Mr. Peck^ coughing slightly. 
However polities are so interesting and. 

Mrs. Peck 
Not at all. You don 't want to buy the horse for us. 

Mrs. Douglas starts to r^ad paper again. 

Mr. Peck 
I should like to, but. . . . 

Mrs. Peck 
But what? 

Mr. Peck 
I can't afford it. 

Mrs. Peck 
You talked about politics to avoid this matter. 

Mr. Peck 
I did not change the conversation. You stated. . . . 

Mrs. Peck^ snappily. 
There's no use. I know. 

Mr. Peck 
But, my dear, this is unreasonable. 

Mrs. Peck 
Don't my dear me, sir. 

[21] 



THE ECHO 

Mr. Peck 

Ydu are so unreasonable, Mi-s. Douglas. . . . 

Mrs. Peck 
I unreasonable? I unreasonable? Brute! Here I 
am slaving for you, and this is the way I'm treated. 
Because. . . . 

Mr. Peck 
Because what? 

Mrs. Peck 
Because ! 

Mr. Peck 
Woman, woman, with thy because. 

Mrs. Peck 

{^Wiping awau a>i imagiuarif tear looks at him out 
of the coruer of her eye. He is e.vtremeh/ stiff, iiu- 
coui promising, a}id troubled.) 

You are more interested in politics than in me. 
You, you. . . . {she blubbers, and sobs on her arm.) 
(He rises and walks about u)ieomfortably.) 

Mr. Peck 
1*11 buy the thing. 

Mrs. Peek hops up and throws her arms around his 
)teck, kisses him: and turns to Mrs. Douglas. 

Mrs. Peck 
Isn't he a perfect angel? 

Mr. Peck, snortino a little. 



Anffel ! 



e>' 



[■22] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Peck 
I'll always do what you want dear. You shall 
have nice mince pie tonight. {He smiles.) 

Mrs. Douglas 

You must let me see your acquisition when you get 
it. 

Mrs. Peck 
We will. Let us go and look at it now, Archibald. 

Mr. Peck 
I suppose we may as well. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Don't forget your promise. 

Mr. Peck 
I shall not, rest assured, Mrs. Douglas. (Shaking 
hands. ) 

Mr. Peck 
Good morning, Mrs. Douglas. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Good morning. Come again. 

Mr. Peck 
Thank you. 

Mrs. Peck^ embracing Mrs. Douglas. 
Good-bye. Come over soon. Bye-bye. 
Exit with G. W. Jones. 

[23] 



THE ECHO 

Mrs. Douglas 

HiseSy goes to ivindow. Shouting is heard on the 
street, martial music is accompanied hy the tramp of 
feet. Mrs. Douglas runs out of center door. Phyllis 
enters room. . .Goes to window.) 

Phyllis 
Mother! .... Mother! 

G. W. Jones, enters. 
Missus went out, Miss Phyllis. 

Phyllis 
The troops have returned? 

G. W. Jones 
Soldiers marchin'. (Looks out of windows.) 

Phyllis 
I hope we may hear something about dad and the 
prince. 

G. W. Jones 
Prince! Prince! What's dat? 

Phyllis 
Except ye become as little children, ye cannot 
know. 

G. W. Jones 

De bible! Yo' member dat ole' rascal Peter, he 

used ter sing hj^mns lowder 'an anyone and steal 

chickens on his way home. Sho' I says at dat were 

wrong and he says. No sah. De bible, 'cause de 

[24] 



THE ECHO 

preacher said so, de bible says: Seek and ye shall 
receive. . . . and the hungry were fed. 

Phyllis 
But the Bible refers to spiritual things. . . . Are 
there many troops, George? 

G. W. Jones 
Quite some, Miss Phyllis. 

Phyllis 
Do you know any? 

G. W. Jones 
No. 

Phyllis 
Is mother outside? 

G. W. Jones 
Yes. 

G. W. Jones_, interestedly. 
Why dere's, dere's. . . . shu' nuff. . . . 

Phyllis, quickly. 
Who? Who is it? 

G. W. Jones 
Freddy Jackson. Marchin' proud as kin be. 

Phyllis, listlessly. 
Oh. 

She goes and sits down. 

[25] 



THE ECHO 

G. W. Jones 
Suddenly gets excited and rushes out. 

Phyllis, after a moment. 
Hasn't mother come back? She will catch cold, or 
did she take my cape. . . . George, I say, hasn 't mother 
. . . . Oh he's gone. . . . 

She smiles and lightly laughs. 

Noise on the stairs. G. W. Jode^ throws open 
door with a loud '*Yea!" Mr. and Mrs. Douglas 
enter and stand near the door. 

Mr. Douglas is a man about forty years of age 
who looks young^er however. He is in fine physical 
condition, rather thin hut strong and vigorous. His 
face is beaming; he is clad in a soiled corporal* s 
uniform. 

G. W. Jones 
Massa's back. . . . 
. Simultaneously with 
Your father, Phyllis. 

Phyllis turns to them. Father opens his arms. 

Mr. Douglas 
Phyllis? 

Phyllis, with a sob. 
Father! 

Mr. Douglas goes forward to take her into his 
arms when Charles appears. 

[26] 



THE ECHO 

He is a young man about tu^enty-five or six years 
old, wearing a faded blue uniform which is adorned 
by a silver medal for bravery. 

Charles 
Phyllis! 

Mr. Douglas turns around. Phyllis starts, hides her 
face in her arms, sways for a moment, and is caught 
by Mr. Douglas and Charles, ivho put her in a chair. 

Mr. Douglas 
George, hurry and get Dr. Mapes. . . . {Exit G. W. 
J.) Mother, a little cold water or spirits of ammonia. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Right away. (Exit Mrs. Douglas at left.) 

Charles and Mr. Douglas rub her hands. 

Charles 
Too much of a shock. 

Mr. Douglas 
Yes. 

Charles 
Hardly any need of sending for a doctor: will be 
over in a minute. 

Mr. Douglas 
Best to be safe. 

Charles 
Yes. 

[27] 



THE ECHO 

Enter Mrs. Douglas. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Here is some water and some spirits. {She bathes 
Phi/Uis^ head with a wet handkerchief.) 

Enter G. W. J. with Dr. Mapes. 

Dr. Mapes, goes immediately to Phyllis. 
Happened to be outside. What's the matter? 
George blubbered so much confused nonsense I 
couldn't understand. A shock? 

Mr. Douglas 
My unexpected return home. 

Dr. Mapes 
She will be all right in a minute. 

PhijUis starts to open her eyes: closes them: calls 
weakly. 

Phyllis 
Mother. 

t Mrs. Douglas 

Yes, dear. 

Phyllis, in a loud whisper. 
I am afraid. I can see. Mother, I saw. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Yes, dear. {Twrns to Dr. Mapes.) 
She must be delirious. 

[28] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 
Delirious f ... No, mother. I feel weak, but be- 
fore ... I saw . . . shadows . . . light . . . confusion. 

Dr. Mapes 
It may be. Close the blinds please, and leave the 
room — the nervous tension must be relaxed. 

They go out — at left. 

Dr. Mapes 

I shall call you in a minute. .. . {To Phyllis.) Do 
you feel better? 

Phyllis 
Yes. 

Dr. Mapes 
Can you see? 

Phyllis 
Yes, but everything is indistinct. 

Dr. Mapes, goes to door, after examining her eyes. 
The young lady's sight has been restored. You 
remember I said it might happen. The blindness was 
caused by nervousness. 

Enter the Col. and Mrs. Douglas. She kneels in 
front of Phyllis. 
Phyllis? 

Phyllis 
Mother. You are there? .... (Feels her.) I 
hardly dare touch you, I fear all will slip away. 

[29] 



THE ECHO 

Dr. Mapes 
We must take good care of our invalid. 

Mr. Douglas 
Yes. {Looks at Phyllis and comes near her.) 

Dr. Mapes 
I suggest that you get a specialist, Dr. Holt, to 
examine her eyes, and in the meanwhile keep your 
rooms in semi-darkness, and let Miss Douglas use 
dark glasses. 

Mr. Douglas 
I shall send George — no I '11 go myself and bring 
Dr. Holt with me. {Goes to Phyllis.) My darling. 
What a joy. 

Phyllis 
Father. I feel like crying. {Silence for a mordent.) 

Mrs. Douglas 
We should go now. I will go with you. Dr. Mapes 
will stay here until we return, won't you, sir? 

Dr. Mapes 
With pleasure. 

Mr. Douglas 
For a few minutes, good-bye. 

Mrs. Douglas 
Good-bye dear. Rest a little. Thank you, doctor. 

Exit. 

[30] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 
Doctor? 

Dr. Mapes 
Yes? 

Phyllis 
Is anyone in the parlor? 

Dr. Mapes 
Why yes. I think I noticed someone when I left 
my coat there. It may have been George. . . .hurried 
so. Hardly know. 

Phyllis 
I think Charles was there. 

Dr. Mapes, significantly. 
Oh. {Pause — very short.) 

Phyllis 
Won't you let me see him, just for a minute? 

Dr. Mapes 
M 'm, yes — but there must be no excitement. 

Phyllis 
I promise. Indeed I shall be so quiet you need not 
chaperone us. 

Dr. Mapes 
I was about to remark that I must run next door 
and tell my wife not to expect me for lunch. 

[31] 



THE ECHO 

Phyllis 
You are a diplomat, Doctor Mapes. 

Dr. Mapes 
That is half of a physician's work. Remember 
your promise. No high tragedy or emotion. 

Phyllis 
No, I promise. {Edit Dr. Mapes. Enter Charles.) 

Charles 
Phyllis! 

Phyllis 
Charles! You know? 

Charles 
Yes. ... it's true. . . . 

Phyllis 
It is! {Opens her eyes.) Charles. ... it is you. I 
can see you. ... I remember you. . . . four years 
ago. ... 

Charles 
Phyllis, Phyllis, how often I have thought of you. 
I have been through the Shenandoah, chasing the reb- 
els in their mad raids; I have tramped in bare feet 
through the snow and the mud, slept in the open, seen 
my comrades rot away on the battle field. I've 
starved and been wounded, but the vision of you has 
never faded. When I wished I were dead, when it all 
seemed a mad, horrible dream, the thought of you has 

[32] 



THE ECHO 

strengthened me. . . . When I have thought of you, I 
have found a new meaning in life. 

Phyllis 
You have suffered Charles? 

Charles 
More than I can tell you. I have wanted sweets; I 
have wanted love and gentleness. Oh there were 
times when I felt I was saving the world from slavery 
and I took pleasure in the most diabolical cruelty 
against which I revolted in my sober moments. I 
thought at times to win fame and honor by the tor- 
ments and destructions of Hell, but when I thought 
of you, my courage seemed mean and cheap; mere 
selfish avarice. 

Phyllis, smiling a little. 
The same eloquent Charles. 

Charles 
As always, only eloquent to you. 

Phyllis 
Still moved by pity, Charles, eh? 

Charles 
No ! Now that you can see, why should I pity you ? 
{Sits gloomily in chair opposite her.) I am the one 
to be pitied. 

Phyllis 
That is absurd. 

[33] 



THE ECHO 

Charles 
Absurd? I shall tell you something rather absurd. 
In camp we used to talk about your sex in a more or 
less joking way, and one of my comrades suggested 
that there are four types of woman, subjectively con- 
sidered, from a masculine view-point. 

Phyllis, Charges rises and paces floor. 
You have never joked before when proposing to me. 
It proves that your love has flow^n with your pity. 

Charles 
Just a minute. It's not entirely a joke. The four 
types are those to which one is indifferent, those with 
whom one would like to be pals, those who are physi- 
cally attractive, and those one feels like protecting. 
You are all of these except the first. (Kneels before 
her.) But you are the fifth type, you defy classifica- 
tion. Phyllis, Phyllis, Phyllis, let us end this non- 
sense. . . . You love me. ... I know you do. . . . 
let us marry. . . . 

Phyllis, sh^ rises. 
I do not know what to think. 

Charles 
Let me think for you. 

Martial music and shouting are heard. Phyllis 
looks at Charles and smiles. He embraces her. 

Phyllis 
Whereas I was blind I now see. . . All is light. . . 
,God is good. . . . 

[341 



THE ECHO 

Kisses her, 

Charles 
Listen. . . . music. ... it's an echo. ... of when I 
left. . . . but now it's glad. ... all wars are echoes of 
other wars. 



Charles. 



Phyllis. 



Phyllis 



Charles 



CURTAIN. 



[35] 



DEATH SPEAKS 



A FANTASY 



Preface 

The didactic, intellectual, philosophical aspect of 
death, and the negative, static point of view in par- 
ticular, are cloaked in the peculiar gnise of the dra- 
matic situation of a ghost rising out of a grave, in 
the dead of night, and speaking with a Priest about 
the life of the individual and of society. The sit- 
uation symbolizes life and death, facing one another. 
In the dialogue there is indicated a note of failure 
for life, but at the end the crowing of the rooster 
and the dawn of day indicate that by rebirth, by 
renewal, and by reconsecration, life triumphs over 
death. 

A funeral march played before the rise of the 
curtain will add to the force of the situation, as 
will complete darkness for a few moments before 
the curtain rises. 



[39] 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE 



The Priest 
Death 



Time. 

Three O'clock in the Morning 

Summer 

Place 
A Country Churchyard 



Death Speaks 



The darkness is intense. It is difficult to see the 
trees which stand like sentinels behind^ and on the 
sides of a white raised slab covering a grave. A 
small wooden cross stands at the foot of it. The 
sound of footsteps is heard, and a priest walks to- 
wards the grave. The storOe {which the stage carpen- 
ter has made of card-board) , opens like the leaf of a 
book. The priest stops and wipes the perspiration 
from his head. Out of the grav'e^ arises a skeleton* s 
head, and a figure, vaguely seen, is draped in vjhite. 

The Priest 
A nightmare ! 

Death^ speaks slowly, with deep sonorous voice. 
No. 'Tis death. 



Death? 

Yes. 

What are you? 



The Priest 

Death 
The Priest 



Death 
I am nothing. I am the eternal negative; the per- 
petual opposition. What is life? 

[41] 



DEATH SPEAKS 

The Priest 
Life is existence. 

Death 
There are two kinds of existence. I am existence. 
Life is existence. The one is growth; the other's 
decay. 

The Priest 
Are you really death? 

Death 
I am your past. The present in the future be- 
comes your past. I am the haunting yesterday, and 
the future someday. I am the ultimate. 

The Priest 
You must be old, or is the ultimate, is death, in- 
compatible with time? 

Death 
It is. 

The Priest 
You are the past ages? 

Death 
I am. 

The Priest 
What do you think of our modern cities as com- 
pared with the ancient? 

[42] 



DEATH SPEAKS 

Death 
Life is the beautiful thing. Everything living has 
beauty. Only the dead and dying is ugly. So your 
cities have the beauty of life. But the noise, the dirt, 
and the unsightly, inartistic conglomeration of stone, 
mortar and steel make your modem cities inferior in 
beauty to the harmonious architecture of noble Athens 
and Rome. 

The Priest 

The large populations of our modern cities are a 
great deal responsible for their construction. 

But you must admit that society is much further ad- 
vanced than it was in ancient days. Democracy is a 
mighty lever of progress. For example, slavery exists 
no more. 

Death 
Chattel slavery exists no more. Consequently the 
very exceptional man has a chance to elevate himself. 
But do not deceive yourself about the abolition of 
slavery. Millions of men are still in bondage, fet- 
tered by economic and social ties. They work for the 
barest necessities of life. Poverty is the blackest 
social cancer in your modern life. It makes your 
Progress a hollow paradox. 

The Priest 
You forget the blessings of democracy, with its 
rule by the majority. 

Death 
The majority rule? Where. . . . Your political 

[43] 



DEATH SPEAKS 

leaders, your sons wlio inherit influence, your econo- 
mic and social leaders dominate and control your poli- 
tics. Your vaunted democracy is an aristocracy, split 
into two factions, each controlling its part of the 
people. The actual majority is the majority of the 
aristocracy. Not until you have an equality of wealth, 
of genius, and of intelligence through-out the body- 
politic will you have democracy. Mind, I do not say 
that your aristocracy is not the best form of govern- 
ment for the present, but do not call it the rule of 
,the majority. Do not call it popular rule through an 
aristocracy. Call it a democracy by the manipula- 
tion of the people. 

The Priest 
You are indeed the eternal negative. You will ad- 
mit, I suppose, that our aristocracy is more directly 
in control than it used to be, and that it is wider in 
its actual sphere and its susceptibility to popular in- 
fluence. 

Death 
I admit this. I admit it is the best government, 
politically considered, under the circumstances. 

The Priest 
Perhaps you will also concede that life is happier 
for individuals nowadays. 

Death 
I do not. Happiness depends primarily on the 
disposition of the individual. One could be as happy 
in Rome as in New York. Insofar as society deter- 

[44] 



DEATH SPEAKS 

mines happiness, I have already intimated that your 
modern society sucks out the vitality of your modem 
laborer, just as the cities of antiquity were built on 
the wasted bodies of the slave. You have poverty; 
you have starvation; your children are driven to 
work; you compel your women to sell their bodies 
and their souls. You let your slaves live in filth, 
cold and privation. You enslave foreigners under the 
names of colonization, expansion, and progress. You 
fill your prisons with human derelicts, many of whom 
you create. You prohibit murder, and practice capi- 
tal punishment. You allow the corners of your 
streets to be used for saloons, and prohibit drunked- 
ness; you allow dens of gambling to exist and prohi- 
bit gambling; you sometimes punish solicitors and do 
not close houses of prostitution. You provide expert 
legal prosecution, but leave the defense of accused 
persons who are poor in the hands of incompetent 
attorneys. 

The Priest 
Unfortunately there is a black side of society. Why 
not look at the bright side ? In fact this is a duty, for 
man errs by his own volition perhaps more often than 
he is driven to it. Look at the large middle-class and 
the upper classes. 

Death 
Here the scene is just as bad. Grovelling middle- 
class mediocrity stumbles along under the same bur- 
dens and falls into the same pitfalls as the lower 
class. As for the higher class it is simply immoral. 

[45] 



DEATH SPEAKS 

It uses morals to suit its own purposes; its scruples 
are expediency, and its principles are a mere cloak of 
its purposes. The upper class is the knowing, and 
the middle-class the unwitting slave driver. The med- 
iocre middle-class generally only seeks a comfortable 
livelihood. Ambition for fame, power, or fortune 
may move the upper class. Neither class is anxious to 
serve the world. They do not want to better the lot 
of man. They move selfishly in the narrow rut of 
their daily routine. The meaning of love is spelled 
in decorous marriage. The meaning of thought is 
spelled in the conventional platitudes and dogma. 
The exalted spirituality of love, and the critically in- 
telligent survey of the world are missing. 

The Priest 

Do you blame mef Do you blame my church, or 
any church? 

Death 

I blame no one. I assert. The cause of the evils 
of the world is the weak will and the blundering stup- 
idity of this middle-headed world. The churches, 
schools, the lawyers, physicians, and the political 
leaders, the magnets of finance and the leaders of 
industry, the statesmen, diplomats, the judges, the 
labor-leaders, the philosophers and editors are all 
blamed. It is not by negative, but by positive in- 
fluences that the world advances. The positive is the 
only real program of real progress. The positive is 
the outgrowth of strong will and clear intelligence. I 
am opposed to the dynamic. I am opposed to intelli- 

[46] 



DEATH SPEAKS 

gence. I am opposed to will, and to the positive, for 
I — I am Death. 

The Priest 
You are the static. 

Death 
I am the static. 

The Priest_, with an agonised cry. 

Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. I may as well kill 
myself. {Grabs his throat.) 

The stage is dark for a morrbent. The ghost disap- 
pears; the grave is covered. Afar is heard the crow- 
ing of a rooster; the sky gets lighter, with a pink 
tinge in it. The Priest is sitting on the grav^e. 

The Priest^ stretching his arms to the sky. 

Die? No. I will not. ... It is morning. ... a new 
day — the resurrection. . . . the dynamic morning sun- 
light re-vitalizes life. . . . Death skulks away. 



CURTAIN 



[47] 



THE INTANGIBLE 



A ONE ACT DRAMA 



Preface 

For the original suggestion of this short drama, 
the author is indebted to the description by his 
cousin, Mr. Ove Gotzsche, of a snake in Cuba which 
kills itself by violently smashing its body against 
a tree or the earth. Such a theme is papably a fine 
analogy of some human lives. After considering 
many lives to which it might be applicable, the life 
of crass materialism, which amounts to degeneracy, 
seemed the most unusual and the most striking sub- 
ject. Moreover an extreme case ending in death 
indicates the general tendency of society. Every- 
thing is bartered. Human souls are thrown on the 
counters of the mart. Values are often topsy- 
turvey. 

The friendly insistence by Brander Matthews 
that *^ there must be a strong conflict of will for 
intense interest by the audience" has had great 
influence in moulding the character of the leading 
figure, through which the conflict has been developed. 
With the words of this authoritative critic in his 
ears, the author rewrote the dialogue of ''The In- 
tangible. ' ' 



[51] 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE 

Mr. John Curren 

William Barlow 

Jane 

Miss Helen Johnson 

Time 
The Present 

Scene 
In New York City 



The Intangible 



In a comfortable library chair sits a gentleman of 
sixty-five years of age. His most prominent charac- 
teristics are a slight fringe of grey hair, deeply-lined 
features, and pale blue ei/es. After further scrutiny 
we see that his square jaiv seems to be infirm; his 
face has a pale, ashen look, reflecting recent sickness. 
He is dressed in a tuxedo, and a smoking jacket is 
flung ov'er his shoulders, which are slightly stooped. 

He is lost in thought; a book is half open on the 
floor beside his chair. On the table at the other side 
of the room is a library table which is covered with 
p)apers and periodicals. Neither the yellow-shaded 
floor-lamp near the sofa, nor the green-stained parlor 
lamp are lit. Only the glowing logs in the fire-place 
cast their fitful light on his face. The pale moonlight 
coming through the window at the other side of the 
room, enables us dimly to discern the table, a few 
chairs, heavy carpets on the floor, a number of book- 
cases, a couple of oil-paintings, mahogany paneled 
walls, and heavy rafters in tUe. ceiling. The old 
gentleman lights a cigarette. 

Mr. John Curren^ calling with a dominant, strong, 

voice. 

Er — er — Say ! Say ! 

He gets up and walks across the room with a some- 
what uncertain step leaning rather heavily on a cane. 

[53] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Mr. John Curren 
Hello! Barlow! Barlow! 

William Barlow 
He appears at the door to our left of the room. 
The bright light which falls on him reveals a slightly 
built young man, about twenty-five or twenty-eight 
years of age. He enters with a pad in his hand, 

William Barlow 
Yes, sir. 

Mr. John Curren 
Oh the devil! Are you there? 

William Barlow 
Not the devil. It's Barlow. 

Mr. John Curren 
Impudence — you kid. 

William Barlow 
Self-defense, sir. 

Mr. John Curren 
Go home to your mother. 

William Barlow 
If you will excuse my saying it, sir, the doctor said 
that under — 

Mr. John Curren 
Enough — enough. 

[54] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

William Barlow 
The doctor said you must not smoke. 

Mr. John Curren 
Damn the doctor! 

William Barlow 
And kill yourself. 

Mr. John Curren 
More impudence. I can't stand you kids. Take 
your hat and coat. 

William Barlow 
You don 't mean. ... 

Mr. John Curren 
Go. Get out! 

William Barlow 
Yes, sir. 

William Barlow goes to the door, — pauses a mo~ 
ment, — turns around, — Mr. John Curren does not 
look at him, hut gazes at the ceiling, with a harsh, 
cynical smile on his fac'&j — Barlow goes out, closing 
the door behind him. After a moment there is heard 
the sound of another door slamming. Curren walks 
to the window, then goes to tHe other door, to the door 
near the window, and calls: 

Mr. John Curren 
Jane. Come here. Hurry. 

[55] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Jane_, off-stage. 
Yes sir. Right away. 

Mr. John Curren 
Not right away. Now ! I say. . . . 

Jane 
Here I am. 

She is a neatly dressed maid, with all the charm of 
youth and beauty. 

Mr. John Curren 
Get Barlow. He just went out the front door. Tell 
him I'll have him arrested if he doesn't return im- 
mediately. He has stolen my cigarette case. 

Jane^ suddenly weeping. 
Oh, no sir. He wouldn't do that. He, he. . . . 

Mr. John Curren 
Ye Gods. You 're not married are you ? 

Jane 
No, but, but. ... 

IVIr. John Curren 
Get him, if you expect to marry a free man. 

Jane 
Yes, Sir. 

She goes out. 

Mr. John Curren^ calls out to her. 
Bring him to me. 

[56] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

He goes to the window. He looks out, apprehen- 
sively tapping his cane. Then he smiles, sits down, 
and reads a book, lighting the table lamp. 

Jane 
Here he is, sir. 

Mr. John Curren 
H'm. 

William Barlow 
I 'd like to know what you mean by threatening my 
arrest. You old rascal, if you were not a sick old man 
I'd throw this trashy cigarette case at you. 

He throws it on the easy chair. 

Mr. John Curren 



H'm. 



What? 



William Barlow 



Mr. John Curren 
You forgot my letters. 

William Barlow 
I don't care about your letters, 

Mr. John Curren 
Enough. Bring me mj^ mail. 

William Barlow 
But I tell you. ... 

[57] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Mr. John Curren 
And I tell you I want my mail. 

William Barlow 
But 

Mr. John Curren 
Bring it. Take off your coat. 

William Barlow 
I won't. . . . 

Mr. John Curren 
Don 't waste more time. 

William Barlow 
Oh, well if you won 't . . . . 

Mr. John Curren 
Get it done, stop talking. 

William Barlow 
Very well, sir. 

He goes out. Jane has been nervously twitching 
her apron. 

Mr. John Curren, to Jane. 
You are — er interested in Barlow? 

Jane 
Yes, I — I — like Will. 

[58] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Mr. John Curren 
H'm, so I guessed. I suppose he said he didn't 
steal my case. 

Jane 
Yes, sir. He was very angry. For my sake, as 
well as his own, he said. 

Mr. John Curren 
For your sake? How like a man! .... Well, he 
didn't steal it; I simply said that to bring him back. 

Jane 
I'm so glad. You do trust him, Mr. Curren. 

Mr. John Curren 
Trust ? Oh, yes. I trust him. He 's as good as any 
other rascal. 

Jane 
Rascal? 

Mr. John Curren 
Oh, angel — angel — that's all. 

Jane 
Thank you sir. {She goes out. He sits down in 
front of fire-plade^ William Barlow enters.) 

William Barlow 
Mr. Curren. 

Mr. John Curren 
H'm? 

[59] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

William Barlow 
A lady insists on seeing you. 

Mr. John Curren 
Her name. 

William Barlow 
She won't give her name. 

Mr. John Curren 

Huh? . i ;2 

William Barlow 
I don't know. 

Mr. John Curren 
Young or old? 

William Barlow 
Young. 

Mr. John Curren 
As good looking as Jane? Or isn't Jane good- 
looking. 

William Barlow, quickly. 
Certainly Jane is beautiful — beautiful: Why, sir, 
there isn't a prettier girl in New York than Jane. 

Mr. John Curren 
H'm, but this other — 

William Barlow 
Oh, yes sir. 

[60] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Mr. John Curren 
Put her out. 

William Barlow 

She says we will have to use brute force to put her 
out. 

Mr. John Curren 
Call the police. 

William Barlow 
But she looks like a lady. 

Mr. John Curren 
All the more reason. 

William Barlow 
She says it is a personal matter. 

Mr. John Curren 
Only personal matters interest women. . . . 

A young woman, unmistakably a lady, about twenty 
one years of age, dressed in a tailored black suit, 
stands in the door. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Excuse me. Is this Mr. Curren? 

Mr. John Curren 
What! 

Miss Helen Johnson 
This is, I presume, Mr. Curren. 

[61] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Mr. John Curren 
How dare you. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Very well, I shall go. 

Sli^ turns to go. 

Mr. John Curren 
No! Stop! Get out, Barlow. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
I pity Mr. Barlow. Get out. {She laughs,) 

Mr. John Curren 
What do you want? 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Justice. 

Mr. John Curren 
Justice? A reformer. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Unfortunately, not a reformer. 

Mr. John Curren 
Fortunately. Only the weak are reformers. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Only the strong need reforming. 

Mr. John Curren 
H'm. . . . Well? 

[62] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Miss Helen Johnson 
I come to ask you to make a decent settlement for 
my father's death. 

Mr. John Curren 
Speak to my lawyer. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
I ask for justice — not for law. 

Mr. John Curren 
Reform the law. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
I am not a reformer. 

Mr. John Curren 
H'm. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Mr. Curren. In these times, when the world is 
straining and giving up its life, the great profits you 
ordinarily make are multiplied. My father went as 
captain of one of your ships. It went under, and 
the crew was lost. I think it a simple matter of jus- 
tice to ask you to take a part of your tremendous 
earnings and give to my mother, only a small part. I 
can support myself, but she deserves to be treated 
justly. 

Mr, Curren rises and looks at her for We first time. 
He starts. 

[63] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Mr. John Curren^ agitatedly. 
Who are you? Sit down! 

He lights the lamps. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Thank you. 

He turns and looks at her. 

Mr. John Curren 
Who are you? God but. . . . who are you. . , . j'^our 
mother. ... I say. . . . 

Miss Helen Johnson 
My mother is the wife of the late Captain Johnson. 

Mr. John Ccjrren 
Her home. . . . her family. . . . who was she? 

Miss Helen Johnson 
Her name was Helen Navaard ; she used to live, be- 
fore she was married, in Maine. 

Mr. John Curren_, sits in chair. 

Mr. John Curren 
Helen. . . . Helen. . . . You are the picture of 
her. . . . 

Miss Helen Johnson 
You know my mother? 

Mr. John Curren 
No, but I knew her. 

[64] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Miss Helen Johnson 
You knew her? 

Mr. John Curren 
When I was a little fellow, in the town where I was 
born, a small hamlet down East, there was a little 
girl I took out in my catboat. When I got a little 
older, I knew I could only love her. I went to the 
city to make my fortune. After five years in Boston, 
I returned. She had gone. They told me she had 
married a first mate on a steamer. I went back to my 
work. 

Miss Helen Johnson 
You were Jim- Jams? 

Mr. John Curren 

Jim- Jams? She used to call me that. Jim- Jams. . . 
Jim- Jams. . . . Has she been happy? 

Miss Helen Johnson 

Very. She thought you had forgotten about her. 
For a couple of years she felt badly, but then she was 
reconciled. Why didn't you write? 

Mr. John Curren 

Why? Why. ... I hated to write I wanted 

to wait until I had succeeded, and. ... I didn't know 
how much I loved her till I heard she was gone. 

Here's a check. Here, here. Before I forget it 

Let me see you. You look so much like my Helen. 

[65] 



THE INTANGIBLE 

Miss Helen Johnson 
We did not know you were the Mr. Curren mother 
knew. She is not very well. Have you been. . . . been 
happy? 

Mr. John Curren^ he rises. 

Happy? {A wild laugh.) Do I look it? Let me 
tell you about my life. In Cuba there is a snake 
which kills itself. It hits its body, its head against a 
tree, the ground, or an5i;hing at hand until it is finally 
dead. So there is a point where money means only a 
vague sense of power to a man, where it does not add 
an iota to his comfort or his strength; where it be- 
comes a dead weight. But he does not east off the 
dead weight. He struggles on with it; an intangible 
desire makes him kill himself for this hollow aim. 

Here I am. Does not this weak and lonely old man 
speak before he has opened his lips? Does not this 
cold prison speak for itself? There are no loving 
hands here. ... no children 's laughter, no kind voices. 
There is only the vision of the grave. ... the grave. . . . 

He sits in chair in a relaxed position. 

Say good-by, for me. ... to Helen. ... my love 

Love is the richest pearl in the dark folds of life. . . . 
Keep it. . . . and God. . . . 



CURTAIN 



[66] 



A BIT O' VERSE 



A mite o'life 

To live, 
A speck o 'thought 

To weigh, 
A ghost o 'dreams 

To see, 
A bit o 'verse 

To read. 



A Bit o' Verse 

VIVO 

Muse! with sacred laurel crown my brow, 
The Bacchian ivy from Aonia's Mount 
Be wreathed by fair Eulalia's tender grace; 
May Orpheus touch my heart's vibrating chords 
To draw from them the richest notes of life 
As strains of music roused Inferno's King. 
My message shall not pine away distressed 
Like Echo loving blind Narcissus cold. 

Mine eyes are lifted to the hills to see 

Whence man did come, and why and whence life's 

course 
Decreed by Parca's Fates doth loom 
Before the favored creatures on this swirling earth- 
ly or Reason with her weakness is the queen 
Who wields a sceptre over intellect. 
As far as human eye can see, the stars 
Are moving in their courses; Janus laughs, 
Diana smiles; the mystic curtains shroud 
From sight innumerable cycling orbs of fire. 
Is human weakness defying man 
To rob the grave of terror's morbid fears, 
Investing life with wished import, though false. 
And holding o 'er man 's head a moral sword ? 
Or did the wondrous One Supreme, that e'er 

[69] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Doth lurk amid the stars and earthly force, 
Create mankind like self, exalting man. 
Man comprehends in part the universe, 
While rivers flow and mountains rise and fall 
But they do neither see nor understand. 
The mind is that distinctive faculty 
Of man's existant; 'tis sublimity! 
This strange earth journey is a walk in paths 
That wind in canyons lined on either side 
By stony walls that limit human sight. 
A chasm starts and ends the way, it drops 
Away to regions writ on fancy's scroll. 
We wander here peculiarly without 
Expressed desire; beginning, being, end, 
Alike, are milestones on the road of life. 

This slight life's flame burns, flutters, dies for aye, 

But verity maintains its poignancy; 

Exalted far above the physical 

The truth's an ideal goal that's fixed in worth; 

Steadfast devotion to the ideal life. 

Consisting in a fabric wove complete 

Of those strange threads entwining life, 

Is to be sought, since it conduces straight 

To progress, joy, and wealth, for self and man. 

In annals where the bravest deeds are found 

They are the tales when right and w^rong combat 

Upon the moral plane, where truth unfurls 

A million streaming flags of victory. 

The true which lies within our hearts should be 

Opposed to bad and fleeting whims and tastes; 

[70] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

The principles of right more precious are 

Than life 's cold shell : the soul and truth are twins. 

The greatest truth of life is that thou art, 
That through thy veins creation 's flute doth play, 
That thou can'st say to being's author ''No! 
I will not live and play my part in life," 
Or, better still, ''I'll do my part to make 
Complete the great creative work of nature. ' ' 

Fair Hebe sits enthroned in fields where play 

Gay Naids in clear stream and fount, as song 

And Satyrs' dances sound their carefree notes. 

Before her feet the hostages of Pan 

Are richly spread with gifts of earthdom's sprites. 

Queen Mab deluges youth with dreams of worlds 

Not built awaiting thought and work by men. 

Youths' visions of the morrow's promise bright 

Maj^ well be cherished by the world as hope. 

Youth! Cast not thou the richest pearl of time 

Before low swine, for youth is fleeting; time. 

The strong inexorable force, consumes in life's 

Odd crucible the season's brightest gem. 

The sky of grey is strangely lit 

As golden beams pour from the East 

Into the West, suffusing it with light — 

Morn kisses Nature with her gentle warmth. 

The tiny plant in darkness born grows up. 

Its petal arms extending to enfold 

The sunlight in embrace,, and gaze enrapt 

Upon the beauty of the sky and earth. 

From darkness of the intellect, the soul 

[71] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Aroused to seek the light of love and truth, 

Awakes and finds itself, o'erflooding life. 

The leaves e'en of a kind are not alike 

But Spring's impulse has common properties, 

For by her mystic touch the leaves unfold 

Revealing similar affinities; 

So youth, with its distinctive qualities, 

,With one accord is glad to loosen all 

The dormant powers waiting to be used. 

To exercise potential faculties 

Stored up from ages faded into night. 

Rich treasures hid within the frame are found; 

So, rising to bear Ge's burdens, youth desires 

To try the strength and use the powers that are 

Inert and undeveloped faculties. 

But in the ecstasy of life and strength, 

There is a tendency to let the light 

Of temporal pleasures and present merriment 

Outshine the graver things that duty holds; 

And duty urges victory in life 

As strife doth rage within the heart wherein 

Are forces of defeat or victory; 

Not conquering, but striving, gives life zest. 

Youth does not readily yield things at hand. 

For future triumphs that demand trained strength. 

Completeness ought to cast its beacon light 

Across the dullness of the flat plateau 

Of life that stretches into future days — 

A mountain, lost in the highest misty clouds, 

But giving life a purpose and an aim. 

'Tis not sufficient that the pow'rs of man 

[72] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Should be developed; they must aim so that 
Unswerving they shall strike achievement e'en 
As arrows from the bow of Procius 
Straight-pierced Cephalus on her jealous watch. 

The promised bride of ev 'ry heart is she 

Whose suitors court her smile in varied ways; 

The hand of Happiness we all desire, 

'Tis strange that She should hold a paradox 

Of wish and task, like jewels and dirt, confused. 

She is not transient joy or luxury. 

But repose of the soul, contented, which 

Is gained by fullest exercise of pow'rs. 

The joy of self-expression is unmatched; 

Not e'en the student's retrospection is 

As pleasant as this glad activity. 

Sweet nectar flowing o'er life's golden cup. 

Thy taste appeases dryness of my heart; 

shades of light that color life with hues 

That brightly garb the drear and blank with shades; 

Appreciation of those things that lead 

In the account of man to happiness. 

Enfolds the nude in gorgeous draperies. 

Excess cannot produce content, 

A pile of stuff is powerless to wing 

The spirit chained to barren, rocky waste. 

There is a scale of fate which balances 

The Cynic life with that of happiness; 

Our duty and joys, like smiles and tears, are hung, 

As day and night weigh down the scales of life. 

Great burdens, gifts, and talents cannot be borne. 

With tranquil heart and even mind except 

[73] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

By strong and noble character that is 

Undazzled by the sham and hypocrite. 

Responsibility draws forth the strength 

That's coiled like inert forest snakes that seem 

A lifeless and impotent mass of earth 

Until aroused, when demons vivify their sting. 

The call of service sounds its clarion note, 

To those who live in life's midday or eve'; 

And chance's billows beating on life's shore 

With mighty currents throw their challenge bold 

To latent faculties of youth to face 

The storm-clouds, tempest or the driving rain. 

As busy shepherds in the clover fields 

Of life's green pastures, let us live and work 

To tend our flocks with care and diligence, 

With full appreciation of the sun. 

And flowers, touched by colors light and deep. 

The principles that men do entertain 

Are those dynamic forces guiding them; 

Men's actions are expressions of abstract 

Beliefs that consciously, or not, are held; 

In order is discernible the truth 

And harmony with law, for order is 

The end of action guided by the truth. 

Beauty is lost when scars of moral fall 

Do indicate a disregard of law; 

The handsome is the perfect love and truth. 

For Venus sees her beauty mirrored clear 

In quiet pools along the dusty road. 

The superficial truth is loud like brooks 

[74] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

That tumble noisily along their way; 

Eternal verities more silently 

And potently as to the sea they flow. 

The cataracts that toss us into truth 

Are in ourselves, where nature's conscience speaks. 

Whate'er the place assigned by destiny, 

There is a spark of light within each soul 

Which smoulders though the Hell of Man enfolds 

It in its grasp, — devoid of s;y'nipathy. 

The seasons come and go; day gilds the sky 

'Till ev'ning's shadows wrap Aurora's form 

In heavy mantle of protecting dark; 

The lark trills a morning carol gay in notes 

That flutter on the muffled breezes stirred 

By upward flight to meet the morning sun; 

The cricket plays its drowsy melody 

Beneath the moon; youth pulsates in the mind 

And body; soon 'tis stagnant; then 'tis dead. 

Spring's spirit, which is rebirth of the soul, 

Lives on undaunted by the years gone by, 

For while the stream of love flows on. 

It does not fade nor lose its luster bright. 

Storm-clouds of death, that gather with the years; 

The cold and frost of winter's blasts, the gloom 

Of ev'ning's grim and grayly tinted shades. 

Are dew-drops 'neath the sun of truth and love. 

As duty is for youth development, 

Maturity should consecrate its pow'rs; 

Thus these do constitute the real success. 

Which men pursue in different ways and modes. 

[75] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Life is eternity, for when the vale 
Of shadows swept by ^lus from the loins 
Of death's Black Prince, doth loom before this life, 
The earthly qualities ennobling man 
Like goodness, hope and love, are blurred in mist, 
E'en though our hands do try to tear aside 
The veil of space which hides the pow'r called God 
And find man 's place amid the starry spheres. 
The great experience is life — not death ; 
Employed and exercised life's magnified. 
When shall a man more restful be than when 
His tired eyes close in that last long sleep 
From which we know no waking, recalling now 
The days of busy sowing, happy gain. 
So as the flow'rs bedeck his corpse at rest. 
The dictum that the world shall make with praise 
Shall crown his work with worthy epitaph: 
Here was a soul. 



TOMORROW 

Methinks of a day that I dreamed — 
A day when my heart should sing. 
As birds their sweet tunes haply chirp. 
And brooks a low melody sound. 

It was to be bright and aglow, 
Like radiance poured from the sun 
Suffusing all nature with light — 
Ah! 'twas to be perfectly spent. 

[76] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

What odd thoughts my reveries crowd ! 
What pictures illumine these moods! 
The past and present play tag 
As fancy reads destiny's fate. 

LOST DREAMS 

The leaves of autumn fall and rot; 
The light of day fades into night, 
Men die; the nation falls; life ends; 
Dreams conjured by my hopes are lost. 

The perfect day betakes its way 
Absorbed by misty rain which falls 
From storm-driv'n clouds of darkest gloom; 
The perfect day is lost for aye. 

For time flits by on winged foot, 
Once lost it ne'er can be recalled; 
But memories of faded dreams 
Persist in lingering 'till death. 

FALLEN IDOLS 

Those idols you have learned 
To kneel before and kiss 
Should be destroyed; torn down. 

So let your spirit free, 

Klnock down- the idol; break 
The Mirror! See the sun. 

[77] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 



TO THE SONS OF FRANCE 

May I pay humble tribute 
To the Sons of France, 

Who saw the lightning strike 
But feared it not. 

May mankind e'er remember 
That the Sons of France 

With courage rare, and might, 
Struck back for right. 



IN MEMORIAM OF DR. CHARLES D. LARKINS 

Day dims ; night falls ; death comes ; 

Rustling leaves drop earthward; 
Souls that bravely fought the fight, 

Leave the strife and go — away. 



SING TO ME 

Sing to Me, Wind! 
Of oceans, and prairies, and crags, 

Whirl before me the leaves 
Of forests that stretch mile on mile; 

Murmur softly like brooks, 
And sing of the morning when birds 

Cheer the earth with their song; 
wind of the world, Sing to me. 

[78] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Sing to me, Love 
Of moments when life seems compressed 

Into smiles of your eyes; 
When crackling of boughs seems your tread, 

And sunlight recalls gracious smiles. 

Sing to me, my Soul, 
Of my duty to play a man's part, 

Chain and guide these hot fires 
That smoulder within, when the strain 

Calling brave men to Arms 
Comes shouting into my heart; 

Rouse me! guide to the right; 
lead me, my soul; Sing to me. 



BIRTHDAY GREETINGS 

Between the dawn and night 
A warm and golden light 
Kisses the flow'rs. 

May bounteous gifts of Jove, 
Of joy, of health, of love. 
Deluge your life. 



FOR US 

The years have passed 

For us ! 
A fiery mass, 

[79] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Of molten stuff, 
Was cooled to earth — 
For us. 

The grass did grow 

For us! 
Sweet violet, 
Soft rose of red, 
And tulip bloom — 

For us. 

The human form 

For us 
Has been evolved, 
That kindred souls 
Might closer be — 

As ours. 



THE PALISADES 

Stone, stone, impressive cliffs. 
Guiding the mighty Hudson; 
Gaunt, gaunt, centennial shores. 
Lording o'er stream and landscape. 

Blue, blue, the water flows, 
Taking its way to sea; 
Green, green, in summer days. 
Foliage blends its sheen. 

[80] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

White, white, the floating ice, 
Specking the choppy blue, 
Night, night, with mantle black. 
Wraps in its gloom the scene. 



THE AWAKENING 

I looked into your eyes one night, 
And saw that there was something new, 
The childish trust, and careless laugh 
Had gone — I knew not where unto. 
We talked, and as you spoke, I knew 
That you were seeking truth and life; 
The soul; Man's heart; the self; these were 
The pivots 'round which meditation moved. 
girl ! when sixty summers add their weight 
The mysteries will still be thine to weigh. 



CAP' BUD 

The mists have been blown away. 
The sky is serene and blue. 

No longer hangs a cloud 
Across the vision of my eyes. 

I see in the west the sun — 
A bright red orb of fire; 

Afar I hear the growl 

Of cannon belching — death. 

[81] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Last night in a narrow trench 
Half filled with mud and mire, 

I stood with my friend Cap ' Bud ; 
He showed me a picture of Her. 

Ah no, you guess it not; 

Her face was T\Tinkled and worn, 
Her eyes looked gently at his 

And his — were filled with tears. 

' ' My mother, ' ' he simply said, 

And as he spoke it seemed 
The earth caved in and night 

With a thousand phantoms danced 

Before my eyes. My head 

Seemed pressed by a heavy weight, 
My voice refused to speak; 

Then sleep closed my weary eyes. 

All this, I can recall 

As my eyes now look at the sky; 
I wonder what happened to Bud — 

A letter? Angel, for me? 

''To mother, good by!" He's dead? 

When I'm up, angel nurse, 
(It will be soon, will it not?) 

I'll take this crumpled note 

[82] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

To mother across the sea 
And tell her about a man, 

Unknown to fame, a prince 
Of men, her son. Cap ' Bud. 



A VISION 

Last night I dreamed that you and 
Sat in the shade of friendly trees. 
As the fleecy clouds drew pictures 
Of Cupid shooting arrows. 

It seemed that we two daisies asked 
To die for truth a martyr's death. 
And by the gold left petal-less 
Was told the old, sweet story. 



BATTLE 

Still they fight! 
The fields are strewn 
With arms bright 
Compressed tight 
At day's noon. 

'Tis a sight! 
By the dim moon 
Of the. night 
From a height 
Shells deal doom. 

[83] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 



APART 

The breeze that sighs 
In the forest glens, 

Its serenade tries 
To sway your sense. 

Dew-drops come down, 
Bedecking the lawn, 

With a precious crown. 
Cast at your throne. 

Silver moonbeams 
Your evening flood. 

To wrap you it seems. 
In glistening hood. 

You tread on flow'rs, 
You sing above sighs. 

For you my gold hours 
Are of dull lead. 

An open book 

Do I lay my heart, 
But you do not look, 

We stand apart. 



GUESS NOT! 

Ise only a li'le feller, Nance, 
But 'is one thing I knows, 

[84] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

On Wednesday brudder Jim goes, 
Wid sholdier men to France; 
And he ain't skeered o' nuttin'; 

Guess not! 
Jes wait 'till he's agoin'. 

Don't worry at de Dutchmen's ships 

Will persiscope New York, 

For brudder Jim will talk 
And work for us wid whips 

An' things to win the fight, — 
Guess so! 

An' we'll come out right. 

YOU 

Pulsing, tremulous, throbbing. 
Life, — strange mystic surge, — 
Courses through me. . . . 
Vague longing fills my heart. 
Myriad stars wake myriad thoughts! 
Moonlight and sunlight 
Caught and reflected 
Life have affected 
Filled it to overflowing 
With thought of You. 

WHITE ROSES AND RED 

A pure white rose 
I throw to thee, who dressed in white 

[85] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 

Art standing with the moonlight's beams 
Ilium 'ning thee against the night, 
Whose drap'ry black and sombre gleams, 
A fairy statue thou dost seem, 
A cameo of black and white; 
I toss to thee a pure white rose. 

A rich red rose 
I kiss and then thy lips so gay. 
My butterfly, in gaudy gown. 
Who dancest near the shim 'ring bay. 
With myriad hues of flowers 'round. 
And twinkling bells, and joyful sounds; 
A pastel, iridescent, gay, 
I kiss the rich red rose you wear. 



FAREWELL OLD PLAYMATE 

Playmate of other hours, farewell! 
The leaves of yesterday decay, 
Rebirth and death are nature's rule. 
Dismiss the old with parting sighs, 
Rejoice that morning guilds the new. 
And birds are singing, voices laugh. 

Playmate of other days, farewell ! 
Like vines that climb o'er trellises, 
Our lives in their full fruitage ripe 
May clamber wide apart in time. 
But side by side, deep in the soil. 
The roots that mem'ry loves are wed. 

[86] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 



MY STAR 



Afar in the heaven's dark sullen blue, 
Thou glearaest as white as a lover who's true, 
I believe in thee; 
As I think of thee 
When the golden sunlight has melted, 
And the evening shadows have set 
O'er the valley of life. 
The loud spirit of strife 
Is stilled, and the light, doleful breeze 
Sings plaintively through valley trees; 
All is forgotten, 
Lost in the vision. 
And contemplation 
Of my star. 

Above twinkling, myriad city lights. 
That look furtively through the vista of night, 
Higher than all, afar 
Shines my silv'ry star, 
Whose celestial glow flames when the floodtide 
Of the human traffic at last dies. 
And the city rests 'till dawn — 
'Twixt the night and the morn. 
I gaze and ignore city lights, 
The valley, all sounds, all sights. 
All is forgotten. 
Lost in the vision. 
And contemplation 
Of my star. 

[87] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 



TO EDNA 

A Sad Tale. 
** Truth crushed to earth shall rise again, 
The immortal years of God are hers." 

The Beginning: A Fool There Was. 
*' Please take me skating in the park," 

Quothe She sweetly to Him one day, 
^'Indeed I will," said He to Her, 

And forthwith they went out to skate. 

The Irony of Fate. 
The ice was fine, the evening clear. 

Their hearts were young, their spirits free, 
They raced along quite merrily, 

Without forebodings of their fate. 

The Crisis. 
But sad to say, if truth be told. 

Her weight was too much for mere ice, 
A crackling sound. . . . two screams were heard. 

And then — but 'tis another tale. 

Retributive Justice. 
I pulled out Edna! He was left 

To scramble out alone; (I laugh). 
The moral is : Young man, don 't skate 

With heavy weights, if you don't swim. 

[88] 



A BIT 0' VERSE 



MY SEPULCHRE 

When nature calls me back to rest, 
Then take this frail old shell of mine, 

And with the fire that has sustained 
The engines man employs in life. 

Destroy my form, and make it dust. 

When ocean tides come in the bay, 

The dust that was I, throw on the waves, 

And with the change of tide I'll float 
From New York harbor to the sea, 

Into the boundless watery waste. 

The rolling waves will be my couch. 
The breakers on the shore my voice. 

From Southern seas to Arctic ice. 
From East to West will be my grave; 

My spirit living in men's souls. 



[89] 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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